Shuffle Through
by gbbluemonday
Summary: Series of one-shots: angst, romance, humor, hurt/comfort--you name it, we got it.
1. O Death

**I read a few of these that I liked, so I decided to try it for myself. Just a series of one-shots based on random songs on my iPod. So far I'm fixing to have ten of these, but I promise nothing but inconsistency.**

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"_O Death" by Ralph Stanley_

Sarah was not normally a praying person. She wasn't even sure that was what she was doing now, since she didn't really believe in God anyway, and certainly didn't believe that if He did exist, he spent his time rearranging things according to the wishes of human beings. People were simply too small and too fragile, in Sarah's opinion, to warrant that kind of attention.

It was the _fragile_ part that worried her now. She had seen people die in all sorts of horrible ways—often she was the cause of death. It was because of this that Sarah knew how easy it was to die from a single bullet, or a well-placed dagger, or even a pair of skilled hands. She knew how easy it was for someone to be there one moment and be gone the next.

And that was how Chuck had gone. _Gone_ disappeared, not _gone_ dead—or so Sarah hoped. They had been together one moment, him grinning sheepishly as she scolded him for the careless way he had stumbled onto the scene, completely against her and Casey's orders (Casey was in another part of the building, hopefully disabling the security system surrounding the office of the Ring agent whose intel they were trying to obtain), and the next moment the air had been sprayed with bullets as half a dozen Ring agents flooded onto the scene and started firing. In the fray, Sarah had jumped behind the receptionist's desk, expecting Chuck to follow. He hadn't.

So now Sarah crouched, gun at the ready, preparing herself to leap out of hiding and take aim at anything that didn't green sheepishly when scolded and have a mop of curly brown hair. She couldn't hear anything but gunfire (she winced occasionally as a bullet whizzed through the desk, each one more precariously close to where she was sitting than the last), but secretly she was hoping to hear Chuck's girlish cries for help, or even a yelp of surprise or pain—at least then she would know where he was. She found herself bargaining, willing to trade anything for any sign that he was alright, that she could leap up and save the day without hurting him. It wasn't really praying, though, because Sarah wasn't talking to God.

When she had still been in training, one of the last courses Sarah had completed had been in psychology and psychoanalyzing. Her thesis paper had been on not _what_ criminals thought, but _how_. Sarah had been particularly proud of the paper because she had conducted the main study herself upon discovering that the process of thought each person—criminal or no—used to get through every day was different. Some people thought in dialogues, constantly talking to themselves in their heads. Some narrated their lives like a book. Some thought of themselves as on a stage, projecting their thoughts to a crowd. One woman Sarah had interviewed said she worked out everyday problems by talking to the universe itself.

Ever since Sarah had entered into the field, she found she could only thing clearly when she directed her thoughts toward Death.

That was who she talked to now, crouched behind her desk, preparing to spring, but it was not her own mortality with whom she conversed.

_Don't you dare take him. Don't you dare take that sweet boy out there. I know I've asked this before, but this time I'm telling you, it's no fair to take someone who can't defend against you. It's a low blow and you know it. You're better than that. So don't do it. Just leave him alone and let me take care of the important stuff. _

And in her head, Death answered: _He's as much a boy as you are a girl._

_Chuck is still a child. Everyone is until the world makes them otherwise. He hasn't been made into anything other than a little boy yet, so you have no right to do anything with him. Keep him safe._

Death replied: _I don't come on my own. I have to be coaxed, taunted. I won't take anyone innocent unless they dare me to do it._

Just then, the conversation was cut short as a man in a black suit came flying over the top of the desk, completely unconscious.

"KI-HAAP!"

As ridiculous as the shout sounds\ed coming from Chuck, warm relief flooded Sarah as she heard it. Chambering a round, she sprang up in time to see a well-placed round-house kick send an agent who was charging Chuck flying into a wall. Chuck spun around just in time to jam the final man's nose into his brain with the palm of his hand.

And then the room was silent, save for Chuck's labored breathing, becoming sharper as the Intersect's control wore off and he once again became himself. Sarah lowered her gun, leaping over the desk to lower a shaky Chuck into a chair before he collapsed from the waning adrenaline rush.

"I keep forgetting you can do that," she said.

"Are you kidding?" Chuck said, smiling feebly. "You always knew Agent Carmichael was a force to be reckoned with." He looked around, surveying the damage he's caused with an ill-concealed pained grimace. "I think it's Chuck Bartowski who keeps getting surprised. Did I really do all of this?"

"I think so," Sarah said. "I was behind the desk."

Chuck looked up at her then, all traces of the smile gone.

"Sarah," he said, "this is kind of scary. I don't think I can control who I am anymore."

She reached down, touched his face. "Chuck, you're still Chuck. No matter what. Yes, the Intersect is still inside of your head, but it's not you. It's never been you."

Saying it felt like the truth, but the next moment, it had become a lie, because in reply Chuck simply looked at her and said, "Sarah, before…_this_, even when I had the Intersect in my head, I was just Chuck with the Intersect in his head. Now…well, Sarah, now I feel like the Intersect…who just happens to be attached to Chuck."

And with that truth hanging in the air, Sarah felt like the universe was just waiting for a dare.

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**Sorry if my tenses are a little messed up. It's very late at night here.**


	2. The Wolves

"_The Wolves"—Bon Iver _

In the end, the thing Sarah had always thought would be the hardest ended up being the easiest.

Of course, easy was always a relative term. There was nothing easy about leaving Chuck, but compared to the alternatives it seemed like a jog through the park. A dip in the fountain. A kiss on the cheek. Chuck would never understand that she was helping him, but if the CIA had taught her anything, it had taught her that feelings—especially the feelings of her asset—were hardly important enough for consideration.

And besides, someday the pain would…leave? Ease? She didn't know what would happen for Chuck, but the tightness in her chest as she boarded the plane made it seem impossible that either option would be happening for her anytime soon. The only thing that kept her moving was thoughts of what might have happened if she had not made this decision: Chuck underground. Chuck never getting to see his sister. Her, discharged. Or dead. Both, probably. And in this case, death came in pairs. If she was dead, Chuck probably would be too.

And this was not Chuck's fault.

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"You slept with him."

Sarah, in the middle of polishing a knife, had looked up, but not at Casey.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You _ don't know what I'm talking about_?" Casey's voice was incredulous. "How about last night Walker, how about when you compromised yourself with the asset? How about when you took advantage of someone who couldn't have known any better, much less stopped himself?"

Sarah knew she was caught, but carried on the façade out of habit, the other option she usually pursued (which involved breaking the other's face) off the table. Her head was throbbing from the hangover anyhow.

"Casey, unless you want to tell me what you're talking about, I have work to do."

Casey slammed his fist on the table, making Sarah start and finally turn. His upper lip was curled into a sneer, his temple throbbing .

"I'm talking about your display last night, Walker, or did you think that you could really erase every copy of the tapes? I'd show you what I mean, but I don't think I could stomach it a second time. Do you need a second viewing, Walker? Because by the looks of you I wouldn't be surprised if you don't even remember it."

But Sarah remembered. She remembered every moment, every movement…and she remembered lifting Chuck's arm off of her so she could sneak out unnoticed that morning to erase the tapes—apparently for no reason.

"It was the mission, Casey," she said. "We were both drunk, Chuck knows it was a mistake—"

"Oh, is that why Bartowski was practically singing when I went over there this morning? You compromised yourself with the asset, Walker! You compromised the entire mission!"

"I told you, we were—!"

"An agent never loses control!" Casey roared, with so much anger that for the first time since she had worked with him, Sarah felt a twinge of fear. "And you"—he pointed a shaky finger in her face, his own deep puce— "you never should have taken advantage of that kid. Do you even realize what you've _done_ to him?"

Sarah pursed her lips, trying to regain control of her emotions. "Enlighten me."

"Beckman wants him removed," Casey said, no hesitation. "Involvement with you compromises that self-sacrificing idiot's life on _every mission_, and the agencies can't keep sending in replacements—kind of defeats the purpose of a secret mission, don't you think? So Bartowski is going underground. He's never going to see his family ever again—hell, I'll be surprised if he even sees sunlight again. And that's on you."

Casey, breathing hard, turned away, no longer able to look her in the face. Sarah can feel her own face reddening, not with anger, but with panic.

"We'll run," she said.

"I'll hunt," said Casey. "I'll kill you too, no hesitation this time. And like I said, Bartowski's the self-sacrificing lamb. It's not my problem if he gets in the way."

Sarah's mind was working so fast that she wasn't even sure what she was going to say before she said it, but she did know what she had to do. And, in that moment, with all of her other options laid out for her, it seemed easy. For the first time since she was assigned this mission, it seemed easy.

"There is one other option."

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Sarah boards the plane without looking back. She doesn't know how Chuck will react when Casey tells him what she's done, and she'll never have the chance to find out. But for the first time since she got the assignment, Sarah finally feels like she is making the right choice.


End file.
